


All Too Well

by maniac_pixie_dreamgirl



Series: Red [6]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniac_pixie_dreamgirl/pseuds/maniac_pixie_dreamgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is everything fine?” he asks with a wide grin, putting a handful of popcorn into his mouth.</p><p>“Yeah, I think I’m just a little bit tired,” answers Enjolras, hiding a yawn.</p><p>Grantaire looks at his watch, the very same one Enjolras bought him for his birthday. It’s way past 4am.<br/>“Let’s get you to bed then,” says Grantaire and the he does something he would never do if he was sober - he picks Enjolras up from the floor and carries him bridal style to the bedroom.</p><p>College AU. Thirteen friends. Five love stories. One cat. (Two now)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Too Well

Eponine puts on her coat, buttoning it thoroughly; it’s exceptionally cold outside and she already has a sore throat. She shouldn’t be at work today - it’s her day off - but Grantaire asked her to take his shift because he wanted to be with Enjolras on his last day at the hospital and Eponine said yes. She agreed not only because he is her best friend, but also because her apartment wasn’t her favorite place in the world recently. Ever since Cosette and Marius became a couple, her asylum turned into a place of torture. And it’s gotten even worse this week.

On Monday morning Eponine bumped into Marius in her kitchen. He was wearing red briefs. Only red briefs. And a tomato blush to match them.

On Tuesday she had to put the earphones on, a failed attempt to guard herself from the sounds of bed creaking and almost inhuman moans.

On Thursday she walked in on them in the bathroom. For the first time in her life she wanted to be blind.

It was too much. She tried to put the brave face on, but it was too much. She felt as if Cosette was waving Marius in front of her, letting her know, that he is taken, that she got the prize. So Eponine started avoiding her own flat- hanging around the library, staying at Musichetta’s or working at Musain.

That’s why she is so glad she got invited to Enjolras’ place for a movie night, it was a perfect opportunity to let it all go. Tonight she wants to forget about Cosette and her lover boy. It’s all going to be fine - Enjolras is back from hospital and Courfeyrac will make them watch some ridiculously stupid comedy. It’ll be like old times before Cosette came and fucked everything up.

The wind is so cold and Eponine adjusts her scarf a little bit. She could take a cab, but she likes to walk - it calms her down. She buys a box of doughnuts on her way. The baker winks at her adding two extra. (And his telephone number). Eponine smiles and slips it into her bag. Her mood is much better now. She admires the streets of London, looking at dresses she can’t afford, admiring the houses she’ll never live in.

She hums her way into Enjolras’ apartment, brushing wind-tangled hair with her fingers. She opens the door with a big, face-splitting smile.

“Hey guys!” she screams taking her shoes off.

The living room is filled with people in sleeping bags. She waves to Enjolras sited on the sofa, wrapped in blankets, surrounded by the sea of pillows. He’s still pale and weak-eyed, wearing a grey hoodie she has never seen on him before. Eponine didn’t even know he had something like that in his wardrobe - _he really must be ill._

“How are you feeling?” she asks, blowing him a kiss from across the room.

“Fine, considering the situation,” he answers, warming his hands on the hot mug. His wrists still bear the marks of the I.V. needles. But in the familiar environment, far away from scary white hospital walls, he looks much better.

“I brought doughnuts.” For the first time this week, Eponine feels totally relaxed.

“I love you,” says Jehan, the biggest doughnut-lover in history.

Eponine looks around, searching for missing faces, counting her friends, saying hi.

“Grantaire is in the kitchen cutting pizza.”

“And Courf?”

Jehan looks away and Feuilly answers for him.

“He is late as usual.”

“Let’s watch something normal before he comes then,” Bahorel is sitting on the back of the sofa, stuffing his face with black liquorice.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, some movie where they kick some ass and blow shit up.”

“Over my dead body!” screams Courfeyrac, bursting into the living room. His cheeks are red and he is wearing the weirdest outfit of all times – a pink suit jacket with padded shoulders, tight black pants, and checked creepers on his feet. He looks utterly ridiculous and Eponine giggles.

Everyone except Jehan waves at him.

“Tonight my friends is…” he fakes a drumroll “80’s movies night!!!”

“I would rather gouge my eyes out with a toothpick,” Bahorel winces. “By the way, George Michael calls, he wants his clothes back.”

It’s going to be so much fun, thinks Eponine.

She goes to the kitchen to unload her doughnuts.

✱✱✱

“We need to talk,” whispers Courfeyrac into Jehan’s ear, grabbing him by the arm, piercing him with his gaze. It’s been almost two weeks now. Two weeks of unanswered calls, ignored messages and mealy-mouthing. They needed to talk, to straighten everything up, because right now, the very thing Courfeyrac feared is playing right in front of his eyes - Jehan is slowly pushing him away. If this continues, they won’t be friends anymore, and Courfeyrac knows he has to everything to stop that. That’s why he doesn’t give Jehan a chance to back out; he just drags him to the balcony.

It’s freezing outside, the coldness of concrete biting Courfeyrac’s naked toes, pinches his cheeks. He looks down and notices that Jehan is wearing the same socks that he took from his drawer that night. The moon is casting soft shadows on their faces, hiding Jehan’s nervous blush. He makes small circles with his foot, clearly uncomfortable.

“About that night,” starts Courfeyrac awkwardly, hoping for the right words to find him. He knows how a wrongly chosen sentence will sting Jehan. Being a poet, his friend is weirdly sensitive about words.

He has no chance to finish before Jehan cuts in.

“Let’s just forget about it, we are friends, that’s all. It was just a one-night stand. Things like that happen all the time, don’t make it bigger than it already is.” His words sounds rehearsed, lined with fakeness, but Courfeyrac doesn’t notice. He is too busy fighting the lump forming in his throat.

“It’s not like we are in love with each other, we were just drunk, really drunk.” A nervous giggle escapes Jehan’s mouth and he shakes his head embarrassed.

“Oh… okay then. If that’s what you want.”

“Well you want it too, don’t you?” asks Jehan, his eyes searching Courfeyrac.

The darkness of the night steals so much from them, cheapening the conversation, repainting their expressions. It’s impossible to read the lines of their faces, the small dots forming the bigger picture. It’s becoming too easy to misinterpret, too easy to give in to their fears.

“Of course,” answers Courfeyrac dryly. He pats Jehan’s back his fingertips almost slipping into his hair.

“Friends?” offers Jehan in a small voice.

“Friends,” repeats Courfeyrac.

They hug stiffly, barely touching, like they’re made out of glass, afraid of breaking each other.

Jehan looks at the sky, his eyes heavy with thoughts. He leans on the barrier playing with his hair.

“I wish we could actually see the stars tonight.”

“Light pollution - the city is over-illuminated,” answers Courfeyrac standing next to him.

“How ironic - the fake stars we fill our lives with are blocking us from seeing the real ones…”

“Only you would see it that way,” chuckles Courfeyrac. He almost doesn’t feel bitter anymore. He is almost fine. _Almost._

The sound of laughter from the living room burst through the windows.

“Come on, let’s go back. I’m freezing,” says Courfeyrac, feeling the goose bumps on his arms.

Jehan stalls for a little bit, still admiring the night.

“Will you always be my friend?” he asks.

“Of course I will,” answers Courfeyrac.

He will be Jehan’s friend, even if his soul aches for more.

✱✱✱

Eponine is in Jehan’s room talking to Gavroche on her phone, making sure he is alright, when she hears the familiar voice coming from the hallway. Rolling her eyes quickly she finishes the conversation. Gavroche needs to go to bed soon anyway.

She peers through the door and cringes - she wasn’t wrong. It’s Cosette, sitting at the exact same spot Eponine took up just a few minutes before. Her hair is braided and she’s wearing a pink cashmere cardigan. And next to her is obviously Marius. It’s like they’re joined by their hipbones. As usual Cosette is in the center of attention. Musichetta is admiring her hair trying to find out how she gets them to be so shiny, Courfeyrac rests his head on her shoulder, and Feuilly watches her in complete awe.

Some Kind of Wonderful is on and Cosette decides to comment on it.

“I never could understand how Keith ends up with Watts at the end. It seems so forced to me,” she snorts clearly disgusted by the lack of chemistry between the two main characters kissing on the screen of Enjolras’ plasma TV.

And it’s too much for Eponine. She always liked Watts and Keith’s story, she could easily identify with that. Some Kind of Wonderful is one of her favorite movies of all time and Cosette’s words are just the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“Of course you couldn’t. They actually knew each other before they fell in love, how stupid is that?” she snaps, her tone clear with sarcasm. Ignoring the surprised looks she fleets into the kitchen, where Grantaire, Combeferre and Jehan are cutting the pizza and making popcorn.

“What’s wrong?” asks Grantaire, reading her mood instantly. He always does that, instantly knows when she’s upset like he’s got some sort of radar.

“Why is she here?!” Eponine doesn’t even try to lower her voice. She’s just so, so angry. Tired, angry and hopeless. She liked Marius for such a long time, always hoping that someday he will notice her and right now, the hope is gone, leaving her desperate and unstable.

“Who?” asks Jehan, for once completely oblivious to any animosity.

“The blonde bombshell. God she is so annoying! Can’t she find her own friends?!”

Combeferre shots her a warning look, but she ignores him. She dips a spoon in a jar of peanut butter and continues her tirade.

“I just want her gone. Out of my sight right now. I regret deciding to live with her!”

“Stop it Eponine. Enough is enough. You’re acting like a spoiled brat right now,” says Combeferre coldly. Everyone including Eponine looks at him surprised. Calm and collected, Combeferre rarely makes judgments that are this harsh.

“Cosette is nice and sweet,” he continues, “She’s not only our friend’s girlfriend, she is also our friend. She got invited because I value her company very much. And if I’m correct, you like her too when you’re not consumed by raging jealousy. Cosette is here to stay, and if you have a problem with that, well you know where the doors are.

For a moment Eponine is staring at Combeferre, her eyes wide, her knuckles white. She can’t believe she just heard that. He must be joking. But he isn’t, he is dead serious - there isn't any amusement sparkling in his eyes. Eponine feels the tears stinging her eyes. Her hand closes on her mouth, blocking the escaping sob. And before she starts to cry in front of her friends, she runs to the door and out of the apartment.

Jehan and Grantaire look at Combeferre accusingly, but he just shrugs unaffected.

“Someone had to tell her that,” he says taking the popcorn out of the microwave.

“Sometimes you’re as insensitive as Enjolras,” mutters Grantaire.

Combeferre doesn’t look at him, his lips a thin line.

“I’ll go and look for her.”

“Wait, I’ll go with you,” offers Jehan.

✱✱✱

Eponine is sitting on a bench, sobbing quietly. She’s not wearing any coat and her arms are red from the cold. She hates herself right now and feels pathetic and stupid. She tries to shake this feeling off - self-pitying just isn’t her style. What’s wrong with her lately?

She feels a familiar arm around her. Grantaire’s - she can always count on him.

“She takes everything from me! It has always been that way! Ever since we were kids! She took Marius away and she is going to take you!” Eponine is well aware of how paranoid she is, but it doesn’t matter anymore - the words find the way out of her mouth without her consent.

Grantaire for once is very calm and sensible.

“First of all honey, let’s be honest- Marius was never yours to begin with, you said so yourself. Cruel but true. And second of all - no one is going to take us away. Not Cosette, not Miss United Kingdom, not even Queen Elizabeth herself. No one.”

“Comparing me to the 87 year old lady, good start R.” snorts Eponine, but she manages to smile a little.

“Well your chins are kind of similar,” winks Grantaire.

She attacks him with her elbow, nearly pushing him off the bench.

“We will always be your friends,” Jehan strokes her back gently, trying to make her feel better.

“I just don’t know how she does that - one look of those gigantic eyes sends every man down to his feet,”

“That’s not true”

“Oh come on! Even you adore the shit out of her!”

“I won’t lie, she is pretty cool. But you’re always gonna be my number one,” Grantaire places a kiss on the top of her hair and puts his jacket around her.

“Yours maybe, but not Marius’,” another sob shakes her shoulders. Grantaire winces, she was crying on his favorite shirt and her snots were very hard to wash off.

“Bahorel looks at her like a dog at a piece of meat, and Feuilly nearly proposed! Even Combeferre prefers her to me!”

“Bahorel hits on everyone, even the mannequins at M&S.”

“And Feuilly proposes to nearly everybody, for him it is as common as saying hi,” echoes Jehan putting flowery pins in Eponine’s hair.

Eponine’s nose is red and swollen and Jehan’s offers her his handkerchief.

“And Combeferre…” he pauses before he says too much. He’s still uncertain if his hunch is right, but the look Grantaire shoots him makes him think, that maybe he's not alone in his suppositions.

“Let’s go back, My Little Ponie,” says Grantaire using the nickname reserved for special occasions.

“They’re probably watching The Princess Bride now, I love that movie,” adds Jehan.

“And I invented a brilliant drinking game - every time Mandy Patatkin says: “My name is Indigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die” you drink a shot,”

“It’s Patinkin you dumbass,” says Eponine wiping the tears away with Jehan’s handkerchief. She shakes her head and jumps of the bench.

“Alright I’m fine now, let’s go,” she says with a smile that’s only quasi-faked.

✱✱✱

It’s the end of Footloose and they are all drunk and dancing, splashing the beer everywhere, knocking over chairs and poufs, looking like a bunch of total lunatics. Only Enjolras is sitting on the couch, too sick and sober to join them. The antibiotics don’t mix well with booze so he drank only milk with honey and that wasn’t very intoxicating. Grantaire catches his eyes while doing the self-proclaimed fouetté en tournant and nearly knocks out the vase. He maneuvers between Musichetta and Joly and sits next to Enjolras.

“Is everything fine?” he asks with a wide grin, putting a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Yeah, I think I’m just a little bit tired,” answers Enjolras, hiding a yawn.

Grantaire looks at his watch, the very same one Enjolras bought him for his birthday. It’s way past 4am.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” says Grantaire and the he does something he would never do if he was sober - he picks Enjolras up from the floor and carries him bridal style to the bedroom.

✱✱✱

Eponine decides it’s time to go home. She barely feels her legs and she has an afternoon shift tomorrow.

“Guys I think I’m going to head home,” she says to the people still remaining in the room. Cosette and Marius are long gone and Eponine feels the pang of guilt hitting her - she thinks Cosette might have noticed that something was up. (Marius was still as oblivious as ever though.)

“It’s late, I’ll walk you home,” offers Combeferre.

Eponine cocks an eyebrow - Combeferre hasn’t said a word to her since he called her a spoiled brat.

“You don’t have to, it’s really close.”

“I insist.” His expression is unreadable.

She shrugs, rolling her eyes - there’s no arguing with him when he’s like this, and frankly, she’s had enough arguing with Combeferre for one day.

They walk in silence all the way, not looking at each other, not laughing like they always do. Eponine hates that. She wants to blame all of that on Cosette, but deep down inside she knows that it’s her fault. That’s why, just before her door, she turns and faces Combeferre.

“You were right, I was way out of order,” she says, spitting the words out. She hates admitting that she’s wrong, absolutely _hates_ it.

Combeferre smiles and nods his head. He’s not going to deny it.

“Even the best have their worst days.”

“Do they?”

“So I’ve heard. And for the record... I don’t prefer Cosette. Or anyone else for that matter,” he says and walks off before Eponine can process his words.

_What the fuck that supposed to mean?!_

She enters her apartment, completely dumbfounded. Stupid Combeferre always messing with her head.

✱✱✱

Enjolras is safe in his bed tucked under gazillion of blankets with a soft pillow under his head and a hot-water bottle by his side.

“Are you comfortable?” asks Grantaire.

Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“For the thousandth time- yes I am. What on Earth possessed you, Grantaire? You are acting strange.”

“I am not, you just don’t know me that well,” answers Grantaire, and in that moment Enjolras realizes that this is true. Grantaire knows everything about him - his favorite color, the age he learned how to ride a bike, his allergies, fears, dreams and ambitions. He knows his blood type and coffee order, favorite Harry Potter character and even the name of his first teddy bear. More than that, Grantaire understands Enjolras’ nature - what triggers him, what shapes him, and what breaks him down. And Enjolras has to admit that if the tables were turned, he wouldn’t know half of the answers. This realization makes him feel guilty and sad. It’s a terrible, gut-wrenching feeling and Enjolras tries to get rid of it. But it’s sewed into his heart, not going anywhere.

“You look like you’re about the get sick,” notices Grantaire, giving him a side-glance. He’s leaning on the dresser, his arms crossed, his head tilted.

“I’m fine, just sleepy”

“When, it’s time for me to get going then. Johnnie misses me, I’ve been neglecting him ever since you decided to nearly kill yourself. You know, if you wanted my attention, there are easier ways. You could take up pole-dancing, for example.”

“Grantaire, it’s half past four, you’re drunk, and it’s freezing outside - there’s no way you’re going home.”

“Well, normally I would have just crashed on your couch, but Courfeyrac has already beaten me to it,” Grantaire looks uncertain - it’s clear that the trip home is not on the top of his list right now.

“You can just sleep here,” offers Enjolras bluntly.

“On the floor?”

“Not on the floor, you are not a dog. On the bed, with me - it’s big enough for the both of us.”

Grantaire bites his lower lip, clearly considering the offer.

“That’s it if you are not afraid of catching what I have, but we’ve already slept in the same bed when I was in the hospital, so…” adds Enjolras quickly. He has no idea why he’s so nervous. Or why he cares so much where Grantaire will sleep. All he knows is that the night in the hospital was one of the best slept through nights in his life.

Grantaire nods.

“Sure, why not?”

He takes his shirt off, revealing an impressive set of muscles and Enjolras looks away, feeling the wave of heat creeping up on him. It must be the fever reminding about itself, it _must_ be. Grantaire strips down to his boxer shorts, tossing the clothes to the floor, not bothering to fold them.

He walks to the window, closing the red, velvet curtains and Enjolras steals a quick glance. Man, has he got a body! Perfectly sculpted calves with long, succulent curves, wide hills of shoulders, and a pale flat stomach with a trail of dark hair leading south. His back is even more perfect and Enjolras can’t believe that this is a body of someone who has been drinking excessively. He is a little bit skinny, maybe too skinny, but besides that, whoa... Enjolras is speechless.

Noticing he’s been staring he closes his eyelids. What’s wrong with him today? First asking Grantaire to stay, now creepily ogling him like some kind of a stalker- he doesn’t usually act like this. The flu must have attracted some parts of his brain, that’s the only logical explanation.

Grantaire smiles and slips into the bed, snuggling under a blanket like a little child. The bed isn’t as huge as Enjolras thought, but it’s not his fault- he just never shared it with anyone. He isn’t big on sleepovers, or people touching his stuff, or one-night stands. He is an individualist with a deep sense of personal space, after all.

Through the covers he feels that Grantaire’s feet are freezing cold. And for some reason, probably fever-caused, he digs his own feet out of the cocoon of blankets Grantaire maniacally wrapped him in and puts his feet around Grantaire’s, heating them up.

“Your legs are like the North Pole, seriously Grantaire, I’m amazed you don’t have icicles hanging from your toes.”

“I have bad blood circulation,” mumbles Grantaire, his voice soft with somnolence.

They lay like that for a minute, back to back, Grantaire feet interpolated between Enjolras’, two blots of hair dancing on a pillows like a golden sun and a black storm. Neither of them wants to move, too scared of making the other one uncomfortable. They’ve found the perfect alignment of their bodies, their limbs creating the impeccable constellation.

It’s quiet, tranquil and a little bit misty, like a taste of something new on the tongue, too unfamiliar and new to decide if it’s pleasant or not.

Enjolras can’t stop thinking about how little he knows about Grantaire. He is his friend after all, isn’t he? He should know more. He _wants_ to know more.

“Grantaire, what’s your favorite color?” he asks the most basic question.

“Black”

“That’s not a color; you’re a painter and you should know that”

“I paint with the colors of the wind... Fine, then blue”

“And what’s your favorite song?”

“ Right now? A Case of You by Joni Mitchell probably.”

“As a kid who did you want to be when you grow up?”

“A ninja turtle, what’s with all those questions? Is it like an experiment for your studies? Analyze the mind of a gay drunkard or something?”

“Very funny, I just wanted to… never mind,” Enjolras frowns. If Grantaire is so suspicious of a few simple questions then he must have been a terrible friend all these years. Maybe Lamarque was right, maybe he was so focused on the cause that he had been neglecting other parts of his life. He stares at his ceiling for a little bit, processing everything, trying to fit the new information and their consequences into the folds of his brain.

“I think we should all take a week off and go to the beach next weekend,” decides Enjolras surprising even himself.

“Who are you and what have you done to Enjolras? Have you been mixing the meds with vodka?!”

“I am being serious.”

“You’re being a total loco right now.”

“I am not, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Oh I know you all too well Apollo”

And there isn’t much left to say. Grantaire’s feet are warm now, but Enjolras doesn’t move away somehow feeling Grantaire’s skin on his own, makes him feel safer.

“Goodnight Grantaire.” Enjolras eyes are glued with torpor.

“Goodnight Apollo,” answers Grantaire not wanting to fall asleep, to let this night go.

Just before jumping into the arms of Morpheus, he wishes for Enjolras to still be there when he wakes up. And for the first time in his life, his wish is granted.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this is the next part, for some reason I had a hard time writing this...  
> And I had a very bad week at Uni that's why I haven't updated till now.  
> But nobody cares about that so I'll end it now ;)  
> If you haven't seen Some Kind of Wonderful (or any other John Hughes' movies DO THIS RIGHT NOW!!!) The same goes for The Princess Bride ofc :))  
> As for "A case of you"... I just love this song and I think it sums up ExR perfectly.  
> Special thanks to my lovely beta Nyxierose <3  
> Sorry for all the mistakes  
> Love you all  
> xxxx


End file.
